


Heat Wave

by GealachGirl



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, limit exposure, sunburns suck guys, use sunscreen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 00:19:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14944070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GealachGirl/pseuds/GealachGirl
Summary: Brad knew what he was getting into. Iraq is a desert.But the goddamn sun.





	Heat Wave

**Author's Note:**

> I got burned twice while writing this. And it was inspired by that first burn.

If you asked Brad, the only good thing about the desert was when it got dark.

He’d trained for, and excelled in, all kinds of conditions, and he would never bitch because he’d known what he was getting into. Iraq was a desert, and he was a Marine.

But the goddamn sun.

The sun was relentless. And they’d just lost their water. And they were stopped, having a meeting around Fick’s Humvee, and he could feel his skin burning.

It was something he was used to, and something he was usually better prepared for, but warzones (and the desert) didn’t care about cover or sunscreen or whether it had been ninety minutes.

Later, the sunburn spanned across his cheeks, the backs of his hands and the back and sides of his neck. Somehow, his eyes had been spared.

But the MOPP suit and the punishing heat were making the dry, stiff skin unbearable.

The sun had gotten through the back of the suit’s collar, so now the material rubbed against his neck whenever he moved, and the heat made the sunburn tingle and radiate its own heat so he always felt like he was burning.

Brad ran over logistics for keeping the burns out of the sun and avoiding this situation in the future as he watched the sun set. And he mostly ignored the stinging when he adjusted his posture or when his hands brushed against anything.

He’d gotten burns since he was little, and he’d developed strategies and recognized patterns over time, so now he didn’t think much about it. And he definitely didn’t talk about it.

But Poke did. And when he had earlier, Brad had felt Rolling Stone and everyone else pay attention, too.

They’d been gearing up to go, and his ATL had swaggered over, maybe with a question, maybe just to start shit.

“Is that what your people call a tan, bro?” Poke had asked, nodding at Brad’s cheeks. His tone was easygoing, and Brad had to decide if he’d rise to the bait. It wasn’t mean-spirited, but Brad wasn’t sure he was in the mood what with the last fuck-up from command and the fact that he couldn’t touch his face to wipe the sweat away.

He met Poke’s eyes and smiled, slow, handing the challenge back and never looking away. “Poke, I don’t need a tan because my ancestors had the sense to evolve past that,” he replied, letting his frustration melt into the words.

Poke lit up. “More like mutated, dawg.”

But there was a good reason why Brad didn’t talk about his sunburns.

Not everyone was like Poke. Some of the others took that exchange as permission to try their own jokes, and poke their own fun, like they’d never seen a sunburn before. They didn’t try hard, because Brad was still the Iceman and half of them were still scared of him, but that didn’t make it any less annoying.

And the whole time, Brad felt the burns tingling when his clothes rubbed against them or the hot air got in.

Now, with the sun going down, he sighed. It would be worse tomorrow, at its most sensitive, but for now he was leaning against the Humvee, and the air was soothing. Calming the inflammation.

“Dude what the hell?” Ray asked.

Brad opened one eye to see Ray standing expectantly on the other side of the hood. And with that one eye he tried to tell Ray he wasn’t interested in whatever diatribe he’d worked up.

“What’s wrong with your face?” His RTO came closer, squinting in the dying light. Brad didn’t think it would take him too much effort to put the pieces together, so he watched the sunset instead of answering.

Ray’s low whistle proved him right.

“Jesus Christ homes.” His voice trailed off and Brad thought it must look bad if Ray didn’t crack a joke right away.   

“Leave it alone, Ray,” he said.

“Not when you look like a fucking accident victim, dude. How the hell haven’t I seen you like this before?” His voice crept up in volume and Brad sighed.

“It’s called sunscreen. Do they make it where you come from?”

“The hell do we need it for? We all live underground, right?” Ray said, brushing him off. Brad could feel him staring, for the longest moment of Brad’s life.

“You know, that looks pretty shitty.” Ray’s voice was more hesitant the second time. Like he was concerned but didn’t want to bring it up so explicitly.

“It’s fine.”

Ray’s eyeroll was massive.

“Okay, but are you sure you aren’t blistering or something? Direct sun like that? In the desert? With your Viking skin?”

Brad squinted at him. It was just them right now. The kids needed to get out and stretch their legs after a long day of driving, but this wasn’t how Brad had expected to spend his alone time.

“Yes,” he said, searching Ray for an explanation. “I’m more than capable of taking care of this.”

At Brad’s tone, in an instant, Ray’s concern cleared out and he looked like he’d been caught doing something. His eyebrows arched up and he nodded sharply. “Sure. Good. Wouldn’t want our team leader out of commission.”

Then he left, just as quickly as he’d shown up, and Brad was alone again in the dark, puzzled.

 

Despite his unorthodox approach to being a Marine, Rudy was always useful, in the strangest ways, and Brad knew he could get what he needed from him.

Of course when he’d gotten wind of Brad’s sunburn—that had indeed gotten worse the next day, and was now bright red and sensitive as fuck—he was all over it.

Brad got out of the exchange with soothing lotion and all kinds of gay-ass tips, but he also got something he needed.

The scarf was tucked under his MOPP suit because dealing with Sixta on top of every other thing was the last addition Brad wanted. Plus, he had a reputation to maintain.

But the scarf made a world of difference. It protected the most vulnerable skin from getting further burned and it provided a buffer between the burn and the collar of his suit. And the fabric was light-weight, so it didn’t absorb or trap the heat.

Brad sighed, in relief and comfort, for the first time in the past two days when he lowered himself into his seat and lifted his weapon into his lap.

Ray was still being strange about it, and he shot Brad a look as he got into his place, then he turned back to the window to spit. But Brad had noticed the watchful concern flit across his face just before.

“Hey, Person,” he said, waiting until Ray looked at him. Then he lifted his collar and tipped his shoulder.

Ray’s face lit up. “Paid a visit to Fruity Rudy I see. Did he try to go full makeover or did he stop there?”

Brad sat up straight again and pulled his collar over the scarf. “I barely got away before he started talking about aloe.”

Ray frowned. “What’s your problem with aloe?”

“It does jack shit.”

“But isn’t that like, the burn thing?”

“Not from my experience.”

Ray hadn’t had any Ripped Fuel yet, so his only comment was a raised eyebrow. Then with a dramatic shake of his head and adjustment in his seat, “Of course you’re too good for aloe vera. The one goddamn person who rejects the universal cure for burns.” He rolled his eyes and looked at Brad. “At least you found something else for your delicate skin.”

And there was a weight in his voice that made Brad think he meant it. And cared.

It was nice, and Brad considered it as they rolled out.

Maybe there was a bright side to someone thinking it was all a big deal.


End file.
